Sailing into The Commander
by Golden Panther
Summary: What do Nicholas Flamel, Guigo de Cauliaco, Andrew Ketterley, Digory Kirke, and Michael J. Clarke all have in common? They all have something to do with Narnia, rings, and time travel. Set before, during, and throughout the events of the entire series. Also featuring: The Pevensies, Caspian, and Reepicheep. A.U. (see Author's Note)


_**Sailing into The Commander**_

 _Let the future tell the truth, and evaluate each one according to his work and accomplishments. The present is theirs; the future, for which I have really_

 _worked, is mine._

 _-Nikola Tesla_

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 **Author's Note:** This story is predominately set before and during _The Magician's Nephew, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, Prince Caspian, The Voyage of the Dawn Treader,_ and _The Horse and His Boy_.

A.U. with _some_ canonical elements.

* * *

Dedicated to: Dr. Guigo de Cauliaco

* * *

 **-Prologue: Part One-**

 _ **University of Florence**_

 _ **9 April 1492**_

 _It is with heavy heart but good conscious that I write to you, dear sister. The man who founded the Empire of Magnificent Finance and Grandeur Eloquence in Voice and Stateliness, Lorenzo de Medici, has passed on into Eternal Ether. Upon this news, I have more to tell you, though I regret to write what that news is here should this be intercepted by someone other than you. For now at least, Lorenzo can rest, and even though Florentines grieve silently, I do so without fear of reputation or consequence. My friend de Medici is dead. There should be no punishment for proper grieving of such a man._

 _His will is to be read by his heir, Piero, whom I believe to be someone of ill-pruning. Only time will tell the legacy of Piero._

 _In other news, Cristoforo Colombo is heading east from Portugal in an attempt to make a faster trade route to Asia. I find the man to be insane. The spices and relics of Islam, Buddhism, and the other religions that occupy the Far East, are bountiful enough here and there to last three centuries. However, greed, power, and irreversible corruption plague the heart of that man Cristoforo and I fear that whatever he shall find, shall be great, but also a pedestal made of rotten wood, invested with termites._

 _As for me, the shop is doing well, inventory is stocked and accounted for, and customers are steady. Whenever you are in town, consider stopping by and having supper._

 _Your loving brother,_

 _Ludovico_

In the darkness of his house, Mister Ludovico Ghilardi was secretly dying. Unbeknownst to his friends, he was also secretly planning to end the disease that was slowly taking his life. A doctor of medicine by practice but a baker by trade, Mister Ludovico Ghilardi only had three vital thought processes when it came to his work: success, quality, and timing. Success, he deduced, was the application of both timing and quality mixed with the scientific method. Quality was simply the effort in which the work was performed and this work exceeds all other attempts and is either minimally close or exactly the definition of, the quintessence of the thing. Timing was something that he failed miserably at. Mostly because he was so focused on Success and Quality, that his procrastination in other projects and works, caused him to be mad on Monday, sane on Tuesday, and brain dead by Wednesday each week. Today was unfortunately a Monday.

Lighting a candle and crossing the room, Ludovico slowly made his way past the cage of his pet experimental rat, René, who was busy chewing on a bit of wheat bread, to the door. Bare feet shivering from the cold, unforgiving wood that was still chilled from the miserable winter, Ludovico considered investing in slippers but decided against, seeing the notion as something for lowly individuals who could not simply rough out the conditions of the ground.

Opening the cedar door to let some light from the hall into his room, the doctor yawned and looked down the corridors, noticing an extremely old man with a red cap and faded red slippers knocking on each door of the University in a dutiful effort to find a compassionate person who could spare a loaf of bread.

"Bread for me?" He asked frailly with a cough and wheeze, as if his lungs were simply trying to speak, but did not have the voice or strength to utter a single word.

Watching in dismay, Ludovico sighed heavily and upon shaking his head, placed his candle down on a small side table near the door and walked over to the gentlemen with kindred blue eyes and the warmest face he could produce.

"Sir, would you kindly step into my office?"

The old man shook his head without turning towards Ludovico and upon this coughed once more, this time producing a yellow mucus from his mouth, landing on his arm. Noticing this, Ludovico raised a brow of curiosity and slowly moved toward the man as if to inspect him like an experimental rat, he restrained himself however and took a step back.

"I am a physician sir," Ludovico said, speaking in a concerned, yet hopeful voice. "Perhaps I can help you?"

Not necessarily caring about whom or what Ludovico was, the elderly gentleman still persisted in his state, shaking his head and coughing once more before speaking.

"I do not need help. I just need food. If you do not have any, that is fine, but please, do not help me. For I wish to die."

"May I ask why you wish to?" Ghilardi said as he slowly moved to his left in the hopes of getting a better look at the old man's face.

"Cogi qui potest nescit mori." Replied the old man, this time looking up to the doctor with eyes of a cadaver. Removing his red cap, the man held it out to Ghilardi and repeated his question from before.

"Bread for me?"

Ludovico nodded and turning quickly headed back to his room where he knew he had a loaf or two of wheat bread in his cupboard. Hopefully René had not consumed it yet. As he entered the room again, he turned towards the cupboard and realized that the bread was spoiled from not being stored properly. Mostly, he could tell by the smell of mold and mildew. Sighing from the discovery, he exited the room and thought of a kind way to dismiss the man from his care, realizing that he could do nothing for him in regards to food. Upon looking down the hallway, the physician saw no one. Not a single trace of the old man, his cap, or any evidence suggesting that someone had been there. All Ludovico beheld was an empty hallway in a cold, dark corridor reserved for university professors and practitioners of medicine.

Retreating back into his quarters, Mister Ghilardi crossed his floor again and noticing that the candle he lit to see in his room was still burning, grabbed it from its place and shuffled his way into bed. His mattress was made of old hay that was dead, and his pillow was of the same. The cover he possessed, was made of goat and cow skin, it was warm and simple. After prayer, he closed his eyes, said goodnight to his pet and fell asleep.


End file.
